Deep Blue
by The Page Of Cups
Summary: In the aftermath of Ouka’s death, Omi gets some words on grief from the man that understands it best of them all.


Orange gleamed over the water, onto the bridge. Horizon's sunset warmed everything in sight. Inside his shirt and jacket, against the railing, his heart thudded in darkness.

Three days now she'd been dead. The rain had passed, the flower shop still opened, fangirls still squealed with their faces plastered against the windows. It still hurt.

His arms were numb-- too many hours spent leaning on the rail. He didn't care. It was a familiar resting place for them. He always came to this spot of the wharf when he was troubled. He could watch the boats and the Ferris wheel on the other side of the bay. He could listen to the tide and the seagulls. There was always a slight breeze at the wharf, cooling his face and tickling his nose with the salt of the ocean. And the sunsets were gorgeous.

Except tonight. Tonight, all Omi could think about was that somewhere under that fiery reflection on the surface, the water was the same deep blue of her hair, and probably just as cold as she was now. The sailboat looked so tiny in the distance. Was it even moving?

His senses registered someone behind him, about ten feet away. Who wanted to talk to him, and why from the same spot she'd stood in that time? He steeled his facial muscles, braced his heart. Wasn't going to cry again.

Eyes on him. He didn't look. Once, it had been her eyes to see his loneliness.  
Footsteps. He didn't move. Once, it had been her hand to comfort his shoulder.   
Cigarette smoke. He didn't breathe. Once, it had been her presence to make him forget to.

Leave me alone. He didn't say it. Once, it had been her voice to make him regret it.

He wasn't surprised when Yohji's hand came to rest on his shoulder. Did he see the loneliness, too? Yeah, no question he did.

Neither of them talked. Eventually, Yohji took the hand away, slid it into his pocket. Omi didn't need to look to know; Yohji was watching the endless sea, just like him. Flakes of ash fluttered to the wind-- barren remnants of an unhealthy pleasure, drifting further from grasp with every second.

"You never do get over your first..."

Omi's expression tightened. Don't say it. 

"Sometimes I wonder," he said. "How it is the sun can keep coming back up, when it doesn't even have a reason to. Wouldn't it be nice to know? That secret..."

The giant Ferris wheel reminded Omi of a clock, slowly turning, still turning, even when everything else in the world seemed to stop. Yohji held the cigarette between his fingers, smoke swirling off the tip. Loathsome orange glow off his sunglasses. Yohji couldn't see it. Must have noticed where he was looking.

"Ever been on it?... At the top, you can see all of Odaiba. Girls love it up there..." Paused, sighed. Took a drag. Mumbled. "Amazing... the stupid things you wish you'd done too late..."

The water was nice. Currents lapped at the surface, broke the orange glass with abyssal deep blue. Stark contrast of light and dark, vibrant and somber, life and death. He was almost sorry to see the color starting to fade to pink. It reminded him of her eyes.

Slender arm stretched towards the lighthouse, pointing with two fingers and a cigarette butt. "There's a café on the second floor. Best shortcake and cream you've tasted... Two spoons on request."

Tokyo Tower was bright as usual. Somewhere up there, lots of people who knew little to nothing about real sorrow were watching the fish in the aquariums, or staring off the observation decks and thinking, 'What a pretty evening.'

"Sunset was the best time of day for dessert."

Stop it! He was so terrible. Why now, why choose now of all times to talk about it instead of staring in a daze at his ceiling and wasting away under smokes and drinks? Omi made a face as Yohji dismissed his cigarette butt into the tide.

Belatedly blew out the last breath of its cancer.

"I know it doesn't change how you feel about it but... it wasn't your fault."

Fine. Fine! Omi squeezed his fists into tight balls. Didn't feel like hitting him. Just wanted to yell at him. Who was he to talk? To stand there and lecture him about how he should be reacting to this? Hypocrite. He was...

He caught himself looking at him. Yohji was looking back. He looked sad. Maybe he was sorry she died too.

Omi mentally slapped himself. Of course he was. Yohji was a sensitive person, especially towards girls. If any of the others were as sorry as he was, it would be him.

Damn it, there were the tears. Why did he always...?

"You're angry. It's understandable... They say there are five stages to grieving." Yohji scoffed. "Like you can draw a straight line through human emotion... Grief is like that Ferris wheel. Shock throws you on. Denial, anger, bargaining. Depression. Self-blame... God only knows how many times you'll see it all before stepping off. Shit... I'm still waiting for it to stop."

Omi solidly locked his gaze on the water, because he was sure from the tiny hitch in Yohji's voice, he was struggling for composure, too.

The sun sank lower. Pink became red, and saturated the sky in a sheet of neon blood. Hiss of a lighter. Yohji was starting another cigarette. Omi didn't blame him. His fists relaxed.

"Did you ever..." Only he wasn't sure what he wanted to ask. Felt compelled to speak, somehow. It hadn't been very nice to try tuning Yohji out just because he didn't want to hear.

There was a pause. Yohji gazed at the violent sky. "...Aa."

"I just... I don't..." Damn it, nothing came out. The stewing eddy of emotion in his chest couldn't be put into words.

Yohji scoffed again. "Don't hurt yourself. Sometimes you just have to talk... Sometimes you just have to be quiet."

Omi projected his frustration onto the dock with a glare. He wanted to know why Yohji had gone to the trouble of coming out here. He'd put up with him. He'd talked to him, even about something painful. He'd given him company when he'd wanted it least and needed it most. It seemed like a rude thing to want answered. He didn't ask.

"I..." Fists tightened again. "Isn't there anything I can do to..."

"Bad feeling, isn't it? Being helpless." He sounded so bitter. "No, Omi. There's nothing you can do."

And Omi hated that he was right. Nothing could bring her back. Nothing could change the way it had happened. There was no way to see her even one more time, and to tell her all the things he wished he hadn't kept to himself.

The sun was gone, swallowed by the ocean and its deep blue. Only a band of purple divided sea and sky from navy monochrome. He shrunk down, rested his chin on his arms again. Watched the water ripple and clop. The cries of the gulls as they settled for the night sounded like begging. Maybe they didn't like when the sun went down. No way to bring it back, or to make night any shorter or warmer. What would it be like, if the sun never came back up?

It felt even darker now. Maybe he didn't care. The sun could just stay down, and he'd never miss it. And it would help hide the fact that he was still just a big crybaby. Yohji was a stronger person. He'd won against the tears. He'd been dealing with this kind of pain all along, and Omi had never once seen him cry. He peeked at him from the corner of his eye. Gazing up.

"Look how pretty the stars are. Her eyes had that same twinkle, didn't they?"

Chest panged. Omi lowered his face into his forearms. "I don't want to see."

Yohji paused. Voice firmed. "See."

Omi cringed into his jacket. He didn't want another reminder of her. But stubborn warm fingers slid past the tears, under his chin. Gently tilted his head towards the sky. He let them.

There was no moon. White blurs dotted space. The bigger ones held a faint pulse, as though trying to give life to a dead body. Everything was so dark, but he couldn't help the thought... it really was pretty. And her eyes -had- held that same kind of twinkle. Omi imagined her face again, smiling at him from the stars.

She really was glad to have met him? Even after all that had happened...

He was crying again, because despite the pain, he felt the same way.

Yohji put his hand on his shoulder again. "You're different from me, Omi. You're like the sun. Going down, and always coming up again... Whatever its damn secret is, you know it, in your heart. Next time it rises... Remember."

Yohji.

Urgency whirled his eyes at him too late-- he was walking away. No. Stay. Talk to me more. Don't leave, not with that.

And who on earth muted his voice, kept him from yelling after him? Who locked his feet to the ground, kept him from following? He swallowed and felt like a golf ball was lodged in his throat. Couldn't stop him. Omi sagged his shoulders, and finally turned back to the water.

The tiny sailboat sat on the brink of disappearance. He still couldn't see it moving, but it had, most certainly, shifted a good five feet across the horizon. He turned his gaze to the glorious night, empty of sun and orange, full of stars, amidst the sky of deep blue.

For a moment, he forgot to breathe.


End file.
